


The Love Affairs of Lady Chertsey

by Pufftmg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Finished WIP, HD Holidays rewrite, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, PG unless I do some serious rewriting, Past (non-detailed) Harry/Ginny, Post - Deathly Hallows, Quidditch, Quidditch camp, smidgeon of Ron/Hermione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pufftmg/pseuds/Pufftmg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has spent the past six months in self-imposed exile. When Oliver Wood asks him for a favour, he ends up with a lot more than he'd initially bargained for. With his friends insisting he's made a change for the better, there's little else he can do. As for how Malfoy's involved; well, he just got sick of the Wasps' black and yellow robes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This is a rewrite of a HD Holidays fix exchange way back when - the prompt was 'light fluff/angst, banter and touching'.

Despite assurances to the contrary, Happy Hour at the Leaky Cauldron on a Wednesday afternoon never managed to entice many extra customers. Instead of drawing on a new, young, money-spending set of drinkers, the Leaky was left with regulars, those looking for a quiet drink after work and the random one-offs who sometimes found themselves with nothing better to do at four pm on a weekday. Perhaps it was the smell of two centuries worth of grime and ale or the fact that Finnegan’s had opened just across from Flourish and Blotts. Whatever the reasons, only those wishing to forget a few hours and maybe a few failures in favour of a friendly chat with the new manager, Johnno, and some company listening to the old Wizarding wireless in the corner when it tuned in to “Cauldron Love on the Rocks with Percivius Pernicus” at a quarter to five.

At twenty-two years old, Harry Potter, after ridding the world of Voldemort (hopefully for good) at the tender age of seventeen, thought he was well within his rights if he chose to live a quiet, uneventful, life and visit the Leaky on a Wednesday afternoon for a couple of pints without a lecture from his best friends or their mother. In fact, as he’d adequately argued just the previous afternoon, he didn’t see why there’d be any problem if he spent _every_ afternoon _and every second morning_ here – not that he did, mind you – but if he so chose, well, where would be the harm in that? Hermione Weasley-Granger had raised an eyebrow but intelligently kept her mouth shut. Her husband had merely announced that he was starved.

On this particular Wednesday afternoon, on top of feeling more than justified spending time at the Leaky _purely_ for his own amusement, Harry was also meeting an old school friend. Which is why, as he signalled for another drink, he declined joining the Wizard and Warlock backgammon group that was sitting in their regular corner behind him.

The sound of the door of the Leaky Cauldron swinging shut interrupted the low drone of pub conversation, however the man who strode in in its wake didn’t seem to notice the stares his entrance had garnered. His hood was pulled low enough that it covered his face, (though whether he was hiding from his fellow drinkers or merely the dreadful weather that followed him in remained to be seen). In fact, with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his loose jeans, he looked like he’d fit in better hanging about the front of Tescos with a bunch of mates dressed identically, rather than in the middle of a Wizarding establishment, albeit a slightly deserted one.

Harry wasted no time expressing just that opinion when the figure in question pushed off his hood to reveal a grinning Oliver Wood.

“Been out stealing cars, have you?” He added.

“Potter – you cocky bastard!” Oliver replied without missing a beat, “At least I’m not decaying in the midst of squishy beer coasters! This place has really gone to the Crups now that Tom’s left.”

Harry shrugged in what may or may not have been agreement before moving down the bar to make room for Oliver to squeeze in beside him and a morose looking Goblin.

Oliver made a great deal of commotion shuffling back and forth on his stool, much to Harry’s amusement, before leaning over to stage whisper his astonishment at seeing a Goblin with a half-finished pint at 4pm on a _bank day_ , especially when it was common knowledge that Goblins usually drank Odgens and only ever in even numbers! Of course, this resulted in the Goblin in question directing a stern glare at their end of the bar, before finally stomping off, offended. This was of course Oliver’s actual objective: getting the two a little more privacy.

Harry shook his head at the smug look on Oliver’s face.

“Well, I can see that Nott is rubbing off on you – and not in the physical sense, you smug git!”

The smirk threatened to take over his face Oliver’s face.

“He was a good drinking partner!” Harry continued, going back to his original objection and ignoring the smirk completely. “Kept to himself, didn’t bother me with details about his wife, his kids, his divorce, his mistress, or even the next door neighbour’s dog!”

The look on his friends’ face told Harry exactly what Oliver thought of his choice in drinking partners even before he shook his head in obvious disapproval. In response, Harry ignored his former colleague in favour of pushing a mouldy coaster in circles. Oliver, who’d learnt well enough while working with Harry when it wasn’t a good time to push him, chose that moment to order two more drinks, surprising the barman with the added request that they be non-alcoholic. Regardless, Johnno brought over two dirty mugs of cider without further comment.

“What in Merlin’s name have you been doing with yourself, Harry?” Oliver finally asked when it was clear that the other wizard didn’t plan on making small talk. “Last I heard, you were mid-way through Auror training and then bam, just like that, you up and left and no one’s got a clue where you’re at!”

Harry noticed that two wizards at a corner table were looking askance at them, no doubt due to Wood’s outburst. His attention was regained when Oliver moved in and took a hold of Harry’s arm where it was resting on the bar. It was clear that Oliver expected an answer but when he looked down at the fingers encircling his arm, he couldn’t for the life of him think what to say. What could he tell Oliver, anyway? That he’d been busy getting well first and then busy getting over being left in England by Ginny? Busy drinking to forget the past? Busy begrudging his best friends their happiness? He’d been busy feeling sorry for himself and even busier feeling guilty for feeling sorry for himself in the first place? He couldn’t help but think of Teddy, grinning and ripping the paper off his Christmas presents. Teddy laughing with eyes the colour his mother had favoured. But, as always, the memory soon morphed into that of a pale-faced boy with bandages swathed across his ribs and gauze from his wrists to his elbows. Teddy had lain quietly for six days recovering from his first transformation in a hospital far too big for his five-year-old body. It had caught them all by surprise but Teddy hadn’t looked at them once with resentment or scorn. His eyes had a new depth to them after that first month; though the colour of he eyes still matched his mother, Teddy was just as clearly Remus Lupin’s son.

The hand holding Harry’s arm squeezed tightly, reminding him that Oliver was still waiting to be answered. It was clear that the other wizard was concerned, though he released his hold when Harry made to move his arm. There were red marks where Oliver had ‘rested’ his fingers.

“You alright? I thought I’d lost you for a minute,” Oliver asked, trying to catch his eye.

“Yeah, sorry. Thinking,” he replied absently, flexing his fingers in an attempt to get the blood moving properly again. “I’ve been pretty busy since I left training,” he replied, vaguely. Feeling was beginning to return, now. “There was so much I just put aside when I moved out of Ron and Hermione’s that I decided I needed to stop and see to it all, yeah?” When he looked over, he saw that Oliver’s eyebrows were knitted together in confusion. Or pity, perhaps. He’d had his fill of that look, to be honest.

Harry sighed. “Look. I just needed to step back a bit, and deal with it all. I’d been living out of a suitcase for as long as I could remember – it was good to have the time to set up somewhere. Somewhere that would be permanent. Teddy comes over quite a bit, so he keeps me busy. I think Andromeda finds him a little too much, sometimes.”

Oliver chuckled before asking after Teddy.

“He must be big enough for a BD Broom by now, surely?”

Harry laughed at the question – Teddy _was_ big enough for a child’s broom, though both attempts to get him on one so far had ended in disaster. It was their second try that Harry related to Oliver now – when Harry’s efforts at teaching Teddy to fly had ended with singed eyebrows for both Ron and Harry, a house full of garden gnomes and one very angry Crookshanks. Hermione certainly hadn’t been impressed when she returned home from work.

They both spent a few minutes laughing into their mugs and recalling other unfortunate broomstick attempts – from Ron’s school goal keeping days to the period Harry had played reserve for Puddlemere United.

After a comfortable lull in conversation and a top-up on their ciders, Oliver must have finally decided it was time to discuss the project he’d asked Harry to meet him for in the first place, because he turned suddenly and seriously to question Harry about just that.

“How much have you heard already?” He asked, with an eagerness that reminded Harry so much of their school Quidditch days that he was sure the infamous pre-game pep-talk was coming next. Oliver waved a hand in front of Harry’s face, and he realised he’d forgotten to answer again.

“Actually not a lot, if I’m honest. I haven’t kept up with news. I don’t get the Prophet anymore and I haven’t spoken with anyone about Wizarding news either – not for more than a few minutes, anyway.”

Oliver laughed, “Wow, you really have been off in your own world, Harry! The Prophet changed hands a good five months back. It’s The Oracle now.”

Well, no loss there, Harry thought.

“– and if you thought The Prophet was liberal with the truth!” Oliver waved his hand dramatically.

Harry couldn’t believe it could be worse than The Prophet – after all, they’d actually left him alone these past few months.

“Alright,” Oliver continued, getting back on track, “It looks like I’ll have to give you the rundown from the top. That way there won’t be any confusion.”

Harry sat back comfortably, thinking that Oliver Wood minus confusion would take quite a long time to get at. After all, he bounced from subject to subject as quickly and as effortlessly as he destroyed opposition goal attempts; unfortunately, spectators never had commentary to explain his conversations.

“The League is short on new blood,” Oliver began. “What with the increase in the popularity of Muggle sports as well as the strict new laws for broomstick use and misuse, well, let’s just say it’s getting pretty dire. I mean, we’re right for a few seasons but give it a few years; we won’t have enough players to fill the League teams – and that’s after getting rid of reserves!” Oliver shook his head, “In the not so distant future we’re going to run into real trouble.”

It surprised Harry that he had actually heard something about the decrease in popularity Quidditch was facing. In the last few months, Ron had certainly complained enough about the empty stands at Cannons matches. Of course, it hadn’t stopped his best friend from watching excitedly as England beat Argentina in the first round of the Football World Cup with Seamus and Dean.

“We figure we need to get hold of Quidditch talent earlier,” Oliver continued, not even noticing the small (and possibly inappropriate considering Harry used to play Quidditch professionally) chuckle Harry released.

“By the time they get into the teams, we want them to be more than just decent flyers or flyers with raw talent. They need to be brilliant flyers and even more brilliant entertainers! That’s the problem with players like Krum, for example. He had no personality – which is great if he’s the odd one out in a team but when you’ve got a whole team of Krums? Well, no one wants to watch perfectly executed moves but no emotion for six hours, do they?”

Harry could see where Oliver was coming from; even when he’d been in the reserves, it seemed more and more of his team mates couldn’t string together an interesting sentence, let alone hold an entire conversation.

“In May, I went to scout three different players – two of them had already been scouted for other teams and the third had decided to chuck in Quidditch for that mad Muggle sport where the referee actually tells them to get into fights – all together as a team, over just one ball!”

Harry wasn’t quite sure he knew what sport Oliver was talking about.

“You know, the one with the Guddgell shaped ball. They all wear very short shorts.”

Harry smiled in understanding. Ron hadn’t gotten into the habit of watching rugby yet but Harry had seen plenty of it growing up.

“And it’s not just that other teams are scouting them; there are less good players to scout in the first place because more and more students are dropping out of school Quidditch teams and choosing to play Muggle sports in their spares – in student organised matches because it’s not on Hogwarts Curriculum!” Oliver, on a roll now, didn’t seem to be slowing.

“Look, don’t get me wrong – I think these kids are using a lot of initiative, organising games in their free periods. But they’re pulling out all the good Quidditch players – or they _are_ the good Quidditch players. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Harry could understand why all this worried Oliver – after all, he’d been obsessed with Quidditch virtually from birth. Even back at school he’d never understood people who didn’t enjoy Quidditch. But personally, Harry was a little concerned with where this conversation was leading. What, exactly, did Oliver have in mind? There were certain things Harry just would not do; such as being used as a publicity stunt – which sounded very much like something Quidditch might need right now. They’d been friends a long time though, he was sure Oliver knew enough about Harry to know this; but, then again, he’d made the mistake of overestimating friendship before.

Harry held up a hand and Oliver fell silent.

“Sorry to stop you, but just to be clear, I’m not ready to return to professional Quidditch right now, you know that, right? Because I spoke with Delamore last week and we went over this. I just don’t think I’d do much good, I’m so out of practise.”

Oliver laughed, shaking his head.

“No, no – you misunderstand, or I’m bloody well not telling it right. Course you can’t come straight back to the League, that would be suicide for you and the club! And, though it might bring a few spectators in, it’ll need more than just Harry Potter’s mug to fix this problem! Not that you don’t have a very pretty mug, of course,” Oliver looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye, adding, “but don’t tell Marcus that I said that!” before they both began laughing.

“Thanks for the warning, though I can’t imagine I’d be silly enough to say that to Flint. I like my face the way it is, thank you very much.”

Oliver gave him an obligatory poke in the ribs for that before they settled down to continue the discussion.

“I didn’t think you’d suggest something like that. But it’s hard to know who’s really making the requests sometimes,” Harry said, becoming serious again.

“Where I come from, that’s just not something a friend would ever do!”

Harry shrugged his shoulders – after all, he knew it was something a friend shouldn’t do – but from past experience, sometimes it just was.

“Alright, so it’s clear this isn’t about me coming back to professional Quidditch. Are you going to keep me guessing all night?” Harry took a sip of his cider.

“Well, if you’d just shut it for two minutes!” Oliver replied, exasperated. “See, I’ve been making a list, right, of all the things you’re good at.”

Harry gave him a funny look.

“No, hear me out – you’re good with kids, you only have to see you with Teddy for five minutes to know that. You’re entertaining and you’re always enthusiastic, especially when you know what you have to do, plus you’re a good role model!”

Harry nearly choked on his drink, the noises he was making forced Oliver to stop once again.

“If you ask me to be a mascot, I’ll…” Oliver thumped him on his back, under the excuse of stopping him from choking, though Harry had not been choking for quite some time.

“There will be no costumes in your role – unless, of course, you deem them a necessary component to your teaching!”

“Teaching?” Harry questioned.

“Exactly!” Oliver flashed him a smile.

“What? Like, children?”

“I thought you said you hadn’t heard anything about the job?”

“I haven’t, only you just said… “

“Never mind,” Oliver waved his had carelessly, “will you take the job?”

Oliver leaned in, eyes wide in earnest.

“Hang on! You haven’t said what I’ll be doing yet!” Harry stalled, not at all liking the prospects of going back to Hogwarts so soon – after all, he’d only recently finished redoing his seventh year!

“But didn’t you just say you knew what the job was?” Oliver asked, looking confused.

“No. I said I _didn’t_ know!”

Shaking his head, Oliver replied, “I hope you’re better at explaining things to children, you’re making a right proper mess of this!”

Harry tried to interrupt but was stopped by a shushing signal.

“No more questions. I’ll put it in terms a Beater would understand! One,” Oliver held his index finger out in front of Harry’s face. “The League has been given permission by the Department of Magical Sports and Games to start a Quidditch Training Camp to run over the summer. Two; the Camp will not be restricted to students of Hogwarts – applications will be accepted from European, Asian and African Leagues.“

At least Oliver wasn’t asking Harry to teach DADA.

“Three; a group of trainers will be selected to work with the successful candidates in a variety of Quidditch related fields, not only focussing on individual positions but also team co-operation, management, strategies, networking and in-depth career guidance.”

Harry didn’t like the sound of giving out ‘in-depth career guidance’. Perhaps ‘misguidance’ would be a better position for him to teach.

“Four; students and trainers will live on at our facilities in Epsom Common, Surrey.”

At least it wasn’t being held in Hogwarts.

“And five, just so you can remember them all on one hand! The end of the camp will coincide with the Quidditch World Cup Final in which we’ve organised a showcase event for the students the afternoon before the match starts.”

Harry leaned back in his chair. So, the League was setting up a summer camp in London and they wanted him to train the students. In career guidance, among other things.

Oliver moved his hand, with five fingers raised, to wave in front of the other Wizard’s face, after waiting a considerable time for his answer.

“Earth to Harry – did those five points mess with your ability to communicate?”

Harry stopped twisting the mug in front of him and turned fully to look Oliver Wood in the eyes.

“So you want me to be a trainer at a Quidditch Camp?”

Oliver grinned in reply.

“Teaching children?”

The grin morphed into a smirk.

“And you want me to live with them?”

“Well,” Oliver answered, “Not _technically_ with them – you don’t have to live in a dorm or anything like that, just on _camp_ with them”

That sounded a little better.

“How long are we talking?” Harry asked.

“Eight weeks.”

“And the other trainers? Who would I be working with?”

Oliver shrugged, “At this point, I’m not sure. We’ve had to approach quite a few people. Mostly reserved or retired.”

Harry was drumming his fingers on the table. It was a big decision – he had spent so much of the last six months in self-imposed isolation that he didn’t even know if he could cope with being around others twenty-four seven, let alone kids!

“What do you think?”

Tap. Tap… taptap. Tap.

“Harry?”

“It’s a big decision.”

“I know.”

“I haven’t had too much contact with other Witches and Wizards in the last few months…”

“It’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah? Maybe.”

Tap. Tap… taptap. Tap.

“Perhaps I should talk it through a bit with Hermione.”

“Hermione told me I should contact you to begin with,” Oliver intercepted, grinning.

“Well.”

Tap. Tap… taptap. Tap.

“That certainly does sound like Hermione.”

“So. Will you help me out? I want _some_ trainers, at least, to be able to relate to the kids.”

“Are you calling me a kid, Wood?” Harry asked in only half put-on outrage.

“Put it this way, my back-up trainer is Germanius Staggerhöff.”

Harry looked back, blankly.

“He played for Germany in the 1908 World Cup again Austria.”

So he was pushing on in years, Harry thought.

“…and they lost.”

The two men fell silent again, though the _Tap. Tap… taptap. Tap._ of Harry’s fingers frequently interrupted.

“I suppose it would be a good opportunity to get back into practise and a regular routine.”

Oliver stayed silent.

“And it’s not like eight weeks will interrupt any of my plans for the future. It might even be good to get back into the swing of Wizarding things. Going to the World Cup will be a bonus as well.”

Harry finally stopped taping his fingers and turned to face the other man.

“Say I do this – it’s just one summer, right? I wouldn’t be on some kind of contract would I?”

“Just this summer. It’s a trial, anyway. But if it goes well, we’ll be asking trainers to join us each individual year.”

“That’s good.”

“So you think you might give it a go? Help an old friend out?”

Harry chewed at his bottom lip.

“Just think – it’s a way to get back into Quidditch slowly. You’ll be meeting members from all over the League – getting a feel for their styles, too, I bet – but you won’t have to be in the public eye, really. Not straight away.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, as in, ‘Yeah, I’ll do it’?”

“Sure, why not. No harm in giving it a go, is there?”

Oliver looked torn between elation and apprehension. “But you _want_ to do it as well, right?”

“Yeah, you know, I think I do. I mean, what have I got to lose? Wednesday afternoons at the Leaky?”

Harry laughed and Oliver joined in, though somewhat belatedly.

“You’re not going to miss late afternoon backgammon?” Oliver tilted his head towards the men bickering across the room from them, “Or even your great conversationalist friend over there,” this was said while looking pointedly at the goblin Oliver had scared off earlier.

Harry grinned before replying, “I think there’s a pretty good chance they’ll be right here when I get back!”

Oliver laughed in earnest, before shaking his head and moving to stand.

“Well, you can’t possibly know how happy I am to welcome you on board – and not just because you’ve gotten me out of a two hour reminisce over the good old days with Germanius!”

Oliver held out a hand to Harry, who had also risen.

“And I hate to love you and leave you,” he continued, with a salacious wink, “but I don’t have the time to sleep, among other things, at the moment, there’s so much to organise!”

They shook hands and Oliver made to move towards the exit.

“Wait.”

Oliver stopped in his tracks and by the look on his face when he turned around, he looked sure that Harry was about to renege.

“When does this all start? Do I need to organise anything?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?” Oliver queried, “I was sure we went over this! Bollocks, I should have brought proper notes – or my playbook.”

Oliver shuffled through a few sheet of paper he’d taken from his pocket.

“Here we go. First meeting. It’ll be with all the trainers plus myself and Marcus – he’s the other organiser – hang on…here. So, Monday 10th of June, wait, that’s already gone. Make that Monday the 17th, which will be,” Oliver started counting on his fingers silently. “Next Monday, so, five days.”

Christ, Harry thought, he was jumping right into this.

“And where will it be?”

Oliver shuffled through the papers again before sighing, shoving them back in his pocket and waving one hand, distractedly.

“No idea; depends how many trainers we’re able to find. I’ll owl you as soon as I know!”

Harry gave a chuckle as Oliver waved before turning back towards the exit.

“Oh, one more thing, Oliver –“

Oliver had just reached the door and was attempting to pull his hood up.

“No loitering on the Tube, you hear? You’ll give some poor old lady a heart attack when she thinks you’re about to mug her!”

Oliver gave him the finger before leaving.

Once the other man had left, Harry sat back down and signalled the barman to bring over another of his regulars. He wasn’t quite sure he’d made the right decision. But he’d made it, so he’d just have to deal with it. He was helping a friend out, after all.

Nursing his new drink, Harry moved over to join the backgammon game going on in the corner behind him. He had a score to settle with Old Tubbinox and limited time to do it in!

Monday, he thought, before rolling the dice. Everyone knows life-changing actions are put off till Mondays.


	2. Chapter 2

 245 North End Road, West Kensington was always considered to be quite a curious building. Though it only housed five separate flats, someone had numbered them 1, 2, 3, 4, 6. And although the letterboxes followed this peculiar system, the panel beside the entrance door did not. For just above No. 6: Mr & Mrs Coddington, there was buzzer simply labelled ‘Flat No 5’.

The children in Flat No. 2, on the first floor, frequently attempted to find the missing flat, taking turns buzzing the door while the other stood in various positions around the building, listening for the familiar noise. Their best guess was on the third floor, which only had Flat No 6 on it.

Mr Eddles, who lived alone in Flat No 4, could often be found standing at the top of the second flight of stairs, scolding the children for turning the building into a playground and threatening to pull them back to their mothers by their ears if they didn’t stop clomping up and down the stairs like a herd of elephants.

The strange numbering wasn’t the only odd occurrence at Building 245. Mrs. Merrifold, in Flat No 1, was constantly complaining that the main door kept being left open – though no one would own up to it (consequently, the children from Flat No 2 usually copped the blame) and the rubbish room downstairs was persistently left in a state of chaos – as if bags of rubbish had dumped themselves down there.

Finally, there was a pushbike that kept getting left in the hallway – very much against health and safety regulations. Everyone insisted it wasn’t theirs; however, it always miraculously disappeared anytime the Landlord or the Health and Safety Officer attempted to remove it.

As Harry walked through the entrance of 245 North End Road, he narrowly avoided a stout, grumpy gentleman with neatly ironed trousers and a folder tucked under one arm. If the shining badge on his chest was anything to go by, he was the resident Health and Safety Officer (Harry was close enough to scrutinize it, as the man had stopped with a frown in front of the conspicuously open main door). Harry managed to squeeze by without notice - his bike melting into the brick wall - as the man unconciously took a right angle turn, all the way out muttering angrily to himself about phantom transportation. 

When Harry turned on the lights to his flat, the first thought that ran through his head was that he was going to need to have a big clean out before he had to move to camp.

As he walked down the corridor to the sitting room, he picked up a mismatched pair of socks that were lying haphazardly across his path. There were small piles of oddly grouped items at intervals along the corridor and, though he couldn’t see it right at the moment, he was sure there was a side table somewhere close by.

Once in the sitting room, he threw his jacket at a pile he hoped was his corner couch, and sat down in the only clean spot in the room – the couch he’d been given by Hermione’s mum.

He leaned back to stare at the ceiling. There were cobwebs hanging in clumps above his head, messy webs hanging away from the ceiling by one of two invisible threads. They looked like they’d been abandoned a good few months ago. Hermione had taught him a spell to get rid of then, he was sure, some kind of isolated Banishment, perhaps? He couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. There didn’t seem to be any reason to worry about that, come a few days and he’d be abandoning the place anyway. The spiders were welcome to set up shop while he was gone.

He’d had a busy few days after his meet-up with Oliver at the Leaky. On Thursday, he’d gone to see Ron and Hermione, who had been thrilled that Harry had accepted the job. When he’d returned home on Thursday afternoon, an owl from Oliver was waiting for him. It had explained – in noticeably simple terms – exactly what the job would entail, how many days he was expected to work and where the first meeting would be held on Monday morning.

Harry grinned, remembering all the second thoughts that had run through his mind when he’d read; _All trainers are expected to report to Merrighan Worster at 8am sharp._ He’d lived on his own schedule for so long that the thought of following someone else’s filled him with apprehension the likes of which he had not experienced since he’d stopped attending Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid. He was old enough now that he could admit that he had problems following rules.

Harry sighed, reaching across to the table beside him to pour a glass of Firewhiskey. He still wasn’t entirely sure he’d made the right decision, wasn’t even sure this was something he could handle. It was pathetic, really, how incompetent he felt. Sure, he was good with Teddy, but Teddy was special. There weren’t many things Harry still felt strongly about nowadays – but his commitment to his godson more than made up the space. As long as he could make sure Teddy was brought up with all the love and attention a child needed; all the love and attention he never received, himself – well, then at least he’d know that he’d done his part and something was going right. He’d made a rubbish Auror – or Auror-in-Training, to be more precise, and despite Hermione’s assurances to the contrary, he was sure the Wizarding World could do without another quick to action, quick to anger politician.

But as Ron and Hermione had both pointed out, he hadn’t done too badly back when he was teaching DA during his fifth year and when he had trained with the other Auror Cadets, he’d never had any problems sharing his knowledge or helping teach spell work – it was just his superiors he never quite managed to deal with.

Harry topped up his glass, successfully blocking out the imaginary scolding Hermione was giving him about the amount of alcohol a healthy Wizard should – or should not – consume. Even if he accepted that he might do well training, there were so many things to organise before it even started; and they all meant dealing with people (Wizards and Muggle alike) he’d decided to ignore months ago.

Perhaps ignore was too strong a word for what he’d done. After all, when he’d decided to move out of the flat he’d shared with Ron and Hermione, he hadn’t consciously decided to ignore the world. Things had just fallen through the cracks. He’d stopped meeting with school friends because Ron wasn’t there to remind him or Hermione to insist he go with them. He’d wanted privacy, and though he hadn’t planned on the level of privacy he’d received, he couldn’t say that he hadn’t appreciated it. That’s why he’d decided on using the Fidelus Charm in the first place.

It hadn’t been an easy decision – the charm carried so many unpleasant associations, but when he dropped out of Auror training it had been impossible to live in the Wizarding World. He couldn’t even sit in his flat without being accosted by owls carrying Howlers, nosy press and irate citizens. His decision not to actively protect the Wizarding World hadn’t fit with the actions of Harry Potter: Public Hero.

He’d chosen to make Andromeda Tonks his Secret Keeper and so, while Hermione and Ron both knew where he lived; much to Hermione’s displeasure they were unable to give his location away. Andromeda had not felt it her place to share his location unless specifically asked to by Harry, and as he never did, she never did either.

Whether or not this was the right thing to do had not worried Harry until yesterday, when he realised just how much he’d managed to cut himself off from the rest of the world. Though, if he was honest, even now he couldn’t see how it could have been done differently.

When he left the flat he’d shared with Ron and Hermione, he’d known moving to Grimmauld Place was not an option. He’d been too afraid of losing himself like Sirius had. Instead, he’d decided to move into a flat in Muggle London, close enough to Diagon Alley that he would always feel there was somewhere he could go where he belonged but far enough away that he could easily go a week without seeing old Wizards – far enough that by the time he’d been sighted and the press were told, he’d already moved on.

Harry finished his drink quickly, deciding that he’d better try to make a start in going through all his stuff or he’d just sit here drinking all night. Much like he had the last two. Tomorrow was Sunday and he’d arranged to visit Andromeda and Teddy in the afternoon, so he wanted to finish up packing as much as possible.

Moving back through the corridor towards his bedroom, Harry wondered how he’d ever managed to horde so much stuff. After all, it seemed like only yesterday when he’d carried his whole life around in his Hogwarts trunk. He was sure he’d left Ron and Hermione’s with only his trunk. How he’d managed to gather belongings when he’d hardly left the house really baffled him.

Spending so much time alone at home, he mused, required an awful lot of things to keep you entertained. His house was filled with all those useless things you buy because they look like they might be fun; games with too many pieces (which are inevitably lost), half-finished crossword books and sudoku so complicated even the original numbers have been rubbed out. Not to mention the half decks of cards lying about and hobbies that always tend to be far more trouble than they’re worth. He had a TV somewhere but it only really got used when Ron came round. There was something about watching TV that made Harry nervous. He always had the feeling his Uncle was going to suddenly come up from behind and yell at him for being a useless, scrounging layabout.

Once in his bedroom, among even more piles of clothing and whatnot, Harry admitted defeat. So, flinging the single sock he’d found on the threshold across the room, he slumped down on his bed and decided he’d just have to make a go of it again tomorrow. At least he’d found the side table in the corridor. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits Teddy and Andromeda.

Teddy Lupin must have been waiting on the front steps of the house for his godfather to Apparate into the yard, for in less time than it took for Harry to make sure his limbs were still attached in the correct places, he had a five year old plastered to his leg.

“Harry!” The boy squealed into the leg of Harry’s trousers. Or perhaps, “Hungry” – it was quite hard to hear the garbled chatter and Harry was a little late for lunch (the pile on his corner couch had not reacted well to attempts at clearing it that morning).

“Come here, you,” Harry said, hoisting Teddy up and into his arms, “Look at you! You weigh a tonne – have you been snacking on Cauldron Cakes again?” Harry gave him a tight squeeze before setting the squirming boy back down on the ground.

“I’ve grown _this_ much, Harry,” Teddy explained, with his hands raised high above his head, standing on his tippy toes.

“I can believe that! You better watch out or you’ll be taller than me – then who’ll take you broom riding?” Harry squatted down before ruffling Teddy’s sandy blond hair.

“That’s ok, you know – ‘cos I don’t think I really like brooms, you know. They go pretty fast, hey Harry? And they’re pretty dangerous, yeah? But if I _did_ want to fly, you could still come –that would be ok.”

Harry laughed before answering, “But where would you sit, little man?”

“Oh, well, behind you of course. You could sit in front ‘cos I’d be big and you'd be small then…ummm..so you wouldn’t fall off!”

Harry, trying to work out five-year-old logic, took Teddy’s hand and they started walking towards the house, where Andromeda was waiting at the top of the steps for them.

“Well, you seem to have this all sorted then. When you’re bigger than me, I guess I’ll have to be the passenger!”

Teddy grinned up at Harry before running to take the steps two at a time and disappearing inside the house behind his grandmother, all the while talking incoherently, either to himself or Harry, at high speeds. Harry was almost sure he’d be cleaning up scraped knees before lunch. Taking the stairs at a more leisurely pace, he let himself be pulled into a hug when he got to Andromeda.

“Harry,” she said at his ear, before stepping back to take a good look at him. “You look tired, you haven’t been sleeping properly.” Andromeda looked concerned.

Harry sighed before giving her a little smile – there wasn’t much you could get past her. Teddy had complained enough times about that very fact.

“I’m fine, really. I haven’t been sleeping so well lately. I think it might have something to do with my mattress,” Harry lied. Andromeda didn’t look convinced. “Plus the kids downstairs keep buzzing my door early in the morning! I’m tempted to ask what they want over the intercom one of these days, just to see how they react!”

Andromeda laughed, letting him off the hook, before she led him through to the sitting room, asking if he’d like a tea before lunch. When she returned with a pot of Earl Grey and two teacups, Harry began to ask how Teddy was, but the boy in question came tearing into the room before he managed to get the question out.

Teddy was holding a bright blue rectangular object close to his chest.

“Harry! Harry, look. This is what I got yesterday when I went into Diagon Alley with Grandma yesterday!” Teddy thrust the object into his godfathers’ hands.

Harry turned the book, for it was clearly a book, over so he could read the title. A large Red Dragon unfurled its wings under the gold scroll, ‘Windy the Warm-Hearted and the Dragon Tale’.

“…so we had to wait _extra_ long with the goblins – and they wouldn’t let me touch anything and we didn’t even get to go in the cart and then the goblin said thank you because he remembered that Uncle was angry last time when he didn’t and then we had to go. But then Grandma said I could have ice-cream or a book for being good – which I was – and so I said a book ‘cos I knew you were coming today and Grandma _always_ lets me have ice-cream when you come. And this book is about Dragons! And its blue- which is my favourite colour, right, Grandma?”

Harry had to put his teacup to one side when Teddy clambered up into his lap. He hadn’t stopped talking and was already setting up the book for Harry to read.

“Well, while you two settle down here, I think I’ll go and finish preparing lunch,” Andromeda stated, with a small smile, before leaving Harry and Teddy alone.

When Harry looked down, Teddy was grinning at him.

“So, a new book on dragons, yeah?”

Teddy nodded emphatically.

“Has Grandma already read it with you?” Harry questioned, opening the cover to reveal a little girl in a purple dress, waving energetically in front of a blue house.

“Nu uh, I had to wait ‘cos Grandma said it would be heaps better if _we_ read it together. But I wanted to read it but Grandma said she had funny eyes and so I said ok and it was ok ‘cos I remember that you make them speak and Grandma just says what they say!”

“Well then,” Harry interrupted, “If we want to tell the whole story before lunch, we’d better get started.”

“Yay!” Teddy answered, before falling dutifully quiet. Harry couldn’t help but wish that everyone in his life were as easily entertained by his impressions as Teddy was.

When Andromeda returned to the living room, Harry was reading the final page of ‘Windy the Warm-Hearted and the Dragon Tale’. She didn’t want to interrupt, so instead she leant against the doorframe and listened as well.

“And so, the Dragon Hunters were turned away by the townsfolk and finally Windy was allowed to visit the Dragon without keeping it secret. And although before, the townsfolk had spoken in hushed tones about the monster living so close by; now they made him a hero and cheered as he flew above the town from his home on the cliff.

As the sun set behind the mountains, Windy leaned in to whisper to the Dragon,

“You see? Now they all know what a friendly Dragon you are. You’ll never have to worry about being lonely again!”

From then on, they told the story of the brave Dragon who had risked his life to save the little girl who had befriended him.”

Harry shut the book in front of him with the final magical words, The End, which usually signalled that it was ok for Teddy to begin chattering again. But for once Teddy was silent and still, only his fingers moving as they traced patterns on the back of Harry’s hand. Harry placed a kiss on the top of Teddy’s head when it was clear he wasn’t going to speak up.

“Hey, Teddy? What are you thinking so hard about?”

Teddy didn’t stop the movement of his fingers.

“Well. The people thought the Dragon was bad, right?” He turned to face Harry. “Even though he never did anything but try and be friends. But they didn’t like him ‘cos he was a dragon?”

Harry bit his lip. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but a couple of times, while reading the book, he had thought perhaps Andromeda had not looked properly before buying it. There were some things that hit painfully close to home.

“But when he saved Windy, they liked him – even if he was still a Dragon. And they let him stay friends with Windy and he never had to be lonely – because he was really good? And they knew he was good.”

“That’s right,” Harry agreed and Teddy fell silent again. He was just about to ask if maybe they should go see to lunch when Teddy replied softly,

“I’m glad the Dragon was happy in the end. It would be sad to live alone and never have friends. Just because you were a Dragon.”

Harry put the book down and wrapped his arms around Teddy, squeezing him tightly. At the same time, a noise came from the other side of the room and Harry looked to see Andromeda standing stiffly in the doorway – though she visibly relaxed before walking into the room.

Seeing his Grandma, Teddy slid out of Harry’s embrace and ran across to her, all traces of sadness seemingly gone.

“Did you hear Harry be the Dragon, Grandma? It was great! And he was really brave and he saved Windy and it’s ok ‘cos even though her mum was angry at the start, she was happy at the end. So Windy could be friends with the Dragon. And they even made the Hunters go away!”

“Well,” Andromeda replied, stroking the side of her grandson’s face, “it looks like you’re big enough to pick good stories now, Theodore. And you’re very lucky to have a godfather with such a good Dragon voice, though perhaps his little girl voice could use a bit of work.” She gave Harry a wink before starting to turn Teddy towards the door.

“Lunch is ready, boys,” She stated.

Before they made it to the kitchen, Teddy added, “He might need to practise Windy more – but you should have heard him do Windy’s Grandma!”

Andromeda turned to see Harry coughing uncomfortably behind her, his face going red. These actions only added to her suspicions that she may, unknowingly, have held a leading role in ‘Windy the Warm-Hearted and the Dragon Tale’. Regardless of the truth behind it, the look of guilt on Harry’s face quickly brought a laugh from her and, after a moment’s hesitation, Harry and Teddy joined in too.

After lunch, Harry asked Teddy if he wanted to practise on his new broom. It took a little persuasion on Harry’s part, Teddy was as reluctant to ride a broom as his father had always been, but in the end, with the promise of a picnic of scones and tea by the pond – as well as ice cream for dessert before they went, Teddy even showed a little enthusiasm for the upcoming lesson.

When Teddy went off to find his broom, Harry took the time to question Andromeda on Teddy’s health while she was packing the picnic basket.

“He is doing far better than either of us, Harry,” she replied, spelling the teapot closed.

“You heard our conversation before lunch, though. Has he been playing with other children since it happened?”

“No. He hasn’t. I have tried to find another Wizarding prep to enrol him in but,” Andromeda set the teapot down a little harder than necessary, “it hasn’t been easy. The laws are so restricting.”

Harry thought that perhaps he should go and place a hand on Andromeda’s shoulder, but even thinking about it made him feel awkward. He’d never been good at consoling people. “He misses his friends,” he stated, instead, thinking of the empathy Teddy had shown for the Dragon.

“Of course he does. But at least he’s asking questions now, too. He is not unhappy, Harry, just feeling alone. He may have inherited his father’s sensibility but Nymphadora was always such a social child. Theodore knows there are reasons he cannot attend school at the moment, but it is hard for him to accept this.”

Harry stood silently waiting for Andromeda to finish the picnic basket. After all, what could he possibly say? He understood the situation as much as he could, which wasn’t half as much as he wished he did, and yet he accepted it even less - not Teddy of course, but he could never accept how narrow minded the Wizarding world was, in comparison to all its minor peculiarities. He just felt so helpless.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, when we get back.” Harry said, just before Teddy came hurtling back through the kitchen door, carrying his broomstick. After a stern look from Andromeda he calmed down enough to only half skip across the floor, until he was standing beside Harry, swinging their joined hands.

“Ok, Harry?”

“You betcha, I’ve got our picnic right here,” He patted his jacket pocket. “And we’re ready to go!”

Teddy squealed an affirmative before dragging Harry out of the kitchen, though he remembered to give Andromeda a quick wave – giving her enough time to remind Harry to cast safety charms before they were gone.

Unsurprisingly, Teddy didn’t last too long on the broom. Once he’d fallen off the third time, without complaint but without enthusiasm either, Harry called it quits - cheering Teddy up immediately.

They made their way over to the pond near the boundary and, after resizing the blanket, began eating the scones and drinking tea. Harry even remembered to transfigure a few leaves into a napkin so, when Teddy inevitably tipped over his tea or dropped his scones; there wouldn’t be too much mess.

Teddy was prattling on about the game he had made up to play with the ducks when an exaggerated gesture tipped over his tea. Harry was quick enough to prevent it spilling but, when he looked up, he saw that Teddy had managed to cover half his face and the front of his hair with cream from the scones. Teddy looked at Harry guiltily, from between clumped hair. But Harry just laughed; he’d eaten with Teddy enough times to know that a meal without mess was as likely as Ron cheering for the Magpies. He shook his head before picking up the transfigured napkin and gradually dabbing at the cream covered face in front of him.

Harry was just finishing up getting the cream out of Teddy’s fringe when he noticed the pink edge of a new scar just near the boy’s hairline.

“What’s this, Ted? You been even more clumsy that normal?” Harry asked lightly, brushing the fringe to the side, so he could see how far along it ran.

“You mean this?” Teddy asked, pointing to the scar. It was a good five or so centimetres in length and stretched just past his temple.

Harry nodded, not quite sure if he trusted himself to speak. There was a nasty jagged edge near the end, where the cause of the gash had tried to remove itself from the skin, quickly. Harry could still vaguely remember noticing the pink scars across Remus' face when the Professor had leaned across to correct his wandwork in DADA.   

“Grandma says it makes me look dashing!” Teddy announced, proudly. He moved closer then, to whisper, “And she said that all the girls will want to talk to me,” he made a face. “I said she should spell it so only boys can see but she just laughed!” Teddy slapped his hand on his knee in indignation and Harry tried his best not to laugh. After all, what use was there in getting upset, anyway? Little boys got scars all the time.

It didn’t stop the endless cry of _not fair_ from running through his head.

After a quick _Tempus_ , Harry shrank the picnic blanket, spelled away their rubbish and, taking Teddy’s hand on one side, and the miniature broomstick on the other, they made their way back to the house.

In the front hallway there were two extra cloaks hanging on the coat stand beside the door. Judging by their quality, Harry assumed Andromeda had visitors from the Ministry. His instinctive attempt to pull Teddy closer was foiled when his godson saw the cloaks and let out an excited squeal before tearing down the hallway. Harry shook his head, assuming there shouldn’t be any problems having Teddy interrupt unannounced, as he obviously knew whose cloaks hung beside the door.

Later, Harry would recall Hermione’s golden rule that to _Assume makes an Ass out of You and Me._ At the time it was an entirely different matter. When he entered the room to see Draco and Narcissa Malfoy sitting comfortably next to Andromeda, sipping tea, it was all he could do to stop from launching across the room and snatching Teddy up. The fact that Teddy was sitting contentedly in Malfoy’s lap, chattering animatedly away, was probably the only thing that brought him up short.

“Look who came!” Teddy called out to Harry, who was still standing awkwardly at the door. “Uncle says he’s been waiting with Grandma Malfoy nearly all the time we were out just so they could see me!”

Harry, who was understandably confused by the whole situation, not least of all how it was that Teddy referred to Malfoy as Uncle, nodded – if not amicably, at least not with hostility. He strode into the room with more calm than he was feeling and sat in the only remaining seat – directly across from Malfoy. Perhaps Teddy noticed his discomfort, for he quickly slipped from his place on Malfoy’s lap in preference of Harry’s. There was something about seeing Teddy so comfortably seated on Malfoy that irked him.

“Harry, dear,” Andromeda began, slipping effortlessly into the role of perfect hostess, “I’m sure you’ve met my sister Narcissa Malfoy and my nephew, Draco – what am I saying, I believe the two of you finished school together!”

In near-perfect unison, both Harry and Malfoy replied that they had not, in fact, finished school together at all – Harry consciously omitting why it was that they hadn’t. A quick glance at Narcissa’s carefully blank face made him glad he’d held his tongue. Though he’d never officially thanked her, he had not forgotten the price he owed for her own silence. Andromeda met their denials with a causal acceptance of error and returned to whatever she was discussing with Narcissa.

The next fifteen minutes proved anything but comfortable; with awkward half pauses, more than a few sudden subject changes as well as plenty of aborted glances between Harry and his erstwhile rival. While Teddy continued to talk at the speed of sound, it was all Harry could do to remember his manners and reply to any questions sent his way with as much coherency as possible. More than once he thought he heard a derisive snort from the chair opposite him, though Malfoy’s face was always impeccably neutral when he tried to catch him. Harry could hardly blame Malfoy if he thought him a fool, though, considering some of the answers he had given to perfectly straightforward questions.

When the Malfoys finally stood to leave, it took Harry a moment to realise Malfoy was trying to shake his hand farewell and only a moments hesitation before he put his own hand out in reciprocation.

He could just imagine what Ron’s face would like when he got round to describing this awkward afternoon tea.

When Andromeda and Teddy walked their guests to the front door, Harry chose to stay in the living room, instead. He was still seated, twisting his cup in his hands, when Andromeda returned a few minutes later.

“I think that went as well as could be expected,” she said, pursing her lips as she sat next to Harry, who was staring off into space.

“So,” Harry finally replied. “Uncle Draco?”

“Well, it made more sense than Second-Cousin, however accurate that may be.”

Harry put down his cup; “The Christmas presents from his ‘Uncle’ make more sense now, at least.” Last Christmas Teddy had received a Children’s’ Potions Kit from his ‘Uncle’.

“Quite,” Andromeda replied, only partially hiding her smile.

Harry supposed this all served him right for not bothering to ask who this mysterious rich Uncle was; he was sure Teddy would have told him in a flash, if he’d thought to ask the right questions.

“Teddy seems to get along with Malfoy well enough. I take it they know of his condition?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, all traces of the smile gone.

“Well it’s good for Teddy to have as many people looking out for him as possible,” He said without fuss.

Andromeda shifted her arms to rest neatly across her lap before answering, “I’m glad you see it that way, Harry. I feel the same, myself.”

“Do they visit often?” He asked, thinking of the way Teddy had fit so perfectly in Malfoy’s lap.

“Not as often as you do, but still frequently. Draco is very fond of Theodore, I think. He also enjoys entertaining him while I speak with my sister.”

Harry nodded but chose not to answer. How could he, when what he really wanted to ask  _Does Teddy like me better?_   was so childish that there wasn’t even a side-way to get an answer.

“And I take it this isn’t new, either. Teddy has mentioned an Uncle before, I’m sure.”

“They spend each New Year with us; it has always been celebrated in the Black family.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to react to this information. It hurt. Andromeda made it sound like they were an integral part of being a Black, though he’d never been invited to join the celebrations. He’d always thought himself a part of their family; now he couldn’t be so sure. Just as it had always been with the Dursleys, he was reminded that the only person fooled into believing he belonged was himself.

“Harry,” Andromeda said, reaching over to cover his hand with her own, “I know there is quite a difficult history between both Draco and yourself – it is why we though it best not to mention his relationship with Theodore. You always spent New Year with Ronald and Hermione, I thought, perhaps mistakenly, you would not mind missing our celebrations. Draco felt you might not be comfortable with his presence.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry all but spat, still trying to keep his calm. “Of course I would try if he was someone important to Teddy.” Which he was, Harry realised.

“I know,” Andromeda replied, squeezing his hand, “It was wrong of me to try to keep this from you; it’s why I asked them to wait today.” Harry looked up to see her staring at him, searching his eyes for something. “Theodore needs all the support we can find him right now.” And just like that, the fight went out of Harry. How could he feel jealousy for people who so obviously cared for Teddy? Of course they should all be working together.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It was just quite a shock. I haven’t seen him in years.” In his head, Harry could see the Malfoys, huddled together, on one side of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, in tears. Across from them, lying side by side, were Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, who had fallen together and taken the secret of their deaths with them. One day Teddy would ask how his parents had died and Harry knew that he would not be able to tell him. It was one of the main reasons he had wanted to become an Auror. And he had failed.

The patter, patter of small feet on a wooden floor announced the imminent arrival of his godson, giving Harry only a moment to collect himself.

“Theodore, what have I told you about running inside?” Andromeda scolded and Teddy looked suitably chastised for all of two seconds.

“Look what Uncle gave me!” He said, holding up a small glass globe.

Harry thought it looked a bit like a Rememberall.

“What’s it do, then?” He asked, dutifully.

“Weeell, see, I _think_ it’s just supposed to, like, roll around and go different colours but then Uncle said something about it helping me make new friends!”

Teddy handed him the box the globe had come in, and after reading the instructions, Harry had to admit he was slightly impressed.

“It attracts friendly animals, Teddy – so you might just be able to play that game with the ducks after all,” he explained, laughing when Teddy’s eyed widened drastically.

“Really? Cool!” He said before dashing out and up to his room, if the thumping up the stairs was anything to go by.

Harry shook his head, still laughing. A quick glance at the clock, however, made him jump up and nearly swear.

“Damn. I was supposed to be at Ron and Hermione’s twenty minutes ago! I’m sorry but I’ll have to run!”

Andromeda insisted he leave the tea exactly where it was – she’d clean it all away after he left and so, after a quick dash upstairs to say goodbye to Teddy, who was already making grand plans with a few model ducks and, possibly, a stray cow, Harry grabbed his coat, pulled Andromeda in for hug and turned to leave.

As he was making his way down the stairs, Andromeda called out quickly to ask if the thing he’d been meaning to tell her before his picnic was important.

“Merlin,” he replied, slapping his forehead lightly, “I was going to tell you; I’ve found a job!”

“Well, really, that’s fantastic, Harry! Where will it be?”

“Oh, in London. It’s only for about three months but I’ll enjoy it. I hope. And I’ve already asked and it’s no problem if Teddy visits me at camp – I made sure of that.”

“At camp, Harry?” Andromeda asked, looking confused.

“Yeah. A summer training camp for Quidditch – it’s been set up jointly, by the League and the Ministry. I’ve been hired as a trainer!” Harry noticed a look of apprehension creep across Andromeda’s face.

“Oh, Harry dear, I think you should know – “ She began, but right at that moment a terrible crash came from the upstairs window, followed by Teddy’s voice, yelling out “Uh oh, Grandma – I didn’t _mean_ to…”

Harry laughed when Andromeda sighed in exasperation and quickly turned back into the house. Realising he was now forty minutes late for afternoon tea, he made his way to the edge of the Apparation wards, cursing, all thoughts of Andromeda’s worried look forgotten by her hasty exit.


	4. Chapter 4

When Harry woke up to the soft chatter of birds outside his window, it took a few moments for him to realise that something was not quite right. Perhaps it was the fact that he could not hear the whine of children insisting it was too soon to go back to school already, or maybe it was the steady drone of traffic, instead of the early morning stutter of car horns. Whatever the reason, it took Harry less than a minute to realise that he’d woken later than he expected, and only a few seconds more for him to realise why he was supposed to be waking early in the first place.

“Shit!” He cursed, scrambling out of bed. The alarm clock beside his bed was flashing 1:43 but a quick _Tempus_ told him just how much trouble he was about to get in.

There was no time for a shower and definitely no time for a coffee. Harry grabbed his trousers, struggling to do up his shirt at the same time as he yanked his socks on. Oliver was going to hex him ten ways to Sunday.

After a few hasty spells to clean his hair and shave, as well as an _Enervate_ to make himself feel at least half-human, Harry made his way up the fire escape so he could _Apparate_ to the Ministry from the roof.

As the door scraped shut behind him the clock in the kitchen slowly ticked over to 8:12am.

The bulk of Ministry Employees had already made their way through the Employee Entrance at the Ministry of Magic and the Security Wizards were just settling back into their seats when Harry Potter rushed up to their counter.

After a moment of confusion due to security not being _quite_ _sure_ if a Quidditch Trainers’ meeting was taking place, Harry was escorted to the Atrium lift by a balding wizard who spoke far too quickly for eight eighteen on a Monday morning.

From what Harry could gather, the meeting he wished to attend had been moved from the Department of Magical Sports and Games to a room on the Fourth Floor in the office of the Pest Advisory Board. Nobody had thought to inform security of the change and so, as _Hubbins, Mr Potter Sir,_ informed him, while he was terribly sorry for causing delay, it really couldn’t be blamed on security at all and perhaps, if it was no bother, he could inform the organisers that it was very important for security to be made aware of such changes in future.

Harry stood, nodding occasionally, in a haze of chatter and inter-Ministry memos while he waited for the lift doors to open and an opportunity to escape. Finally, with a _ding_ Harry was able to exit, with a hasty promise to make sure the organisation was aware of Ministry safety precautions and a slight wave goodbye.

 

*

The Office of the Pest Advisory Board was almost entirely hidden by two creeper plants at the end of the ‘Goblin Liaison Office’ corridor. Luckily, Hubbins had already warned him that the plants made the office a primary fire hazard, so he had a pretty good idea of where it was.

When he opened the door quietly, not wishing to disturb the meeting, the first thought Harry had was that he was definitely in the wrong place. At first, no one seemed to notice him standing there. No one that was except Draco Malfoy, who was sitting directly across from the door.

Malfoy smirked before enquiring whether he was waiting for a gold engraved invitation to enter.

Even seeing Oliver standing at the front of the room shaking his head in amusement didn’t make him any more clear that he should be here. In fact, it wasn’t until Oliver motioned that he should find a seat and park it that Harry made to enter the room a all.

As Murphy’s Law would have it, the only remaining seat was beside Malfoy. Harry sighed in resignation and gradually made his way around to the other side of the room, thankfully only tripping on one bag and getting tangled in one coat. He squeezed into the seat beside the blond wizard and tried quietly removing the booklet and pens he’d brought with him.

Oliver had begun speaking again, something about perimeters and field warding, though Harry couldn’t for the life of him figure out what page they were supposed to be on in the Training Booklet. He shuffled back and forth a few times before Malfoy muttered something under his breath and the booklet suddenly flipped through to page 17. The heading read ‘Security – Field Parameters Part 2’ which sounded right; though he wasn’t sure of their context. He was just trying to puzzle it out when he noticed that Malfoy was sliding a piece of paper across the limited table gap between them. He tensed at first, remembering all the notes Malfoy had sent him throughout their school years, half expecting it to contain insults on his parentage.

When he realised it was actually just a colour-coded, neatly subtitled page of notes concerning field warding, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Probably not the best choice of response, judging from the way Malfoy’s jaw tensed as he quickly snatched back the notes.

Harry hadn’t expected any help in the first place -  he had the right page at least, Malfoy couldn’t take that back. He moved the booklet closer though, and held on to one side, just to be sure.

For the next two hours or so, Oliver discussed the safety precautions, selection process and Ministry red tape that formed the basis of the Quidditch Summer Training Program. Harry began to doubt his ability to understand all the technical and legal terms involved in the program. He hoped Oliver wouldn’t spring a pop quiz on them at the end. He was beginning to doubt his ability to stay awake; the only thing stopping him from falling asleep over his notes was the knowledge that he would be leaving himself open to any number of curses or hexes if Malfoy happened to notice (very likely, considering he’d probably end up with his head resting on Malfoy’s shoulder).

A sudden increase in noise woke Harry from the half doze he’d managed to fall into, despite himself. Oliver must have called for a break as the other trainers were making their way to the door. Malfoy was still there, right at his side, stacking his notes and booklet neatly beside his pens. When he noticed Harry watching, he raised an eyebrow before asking, “Returned to the living have you?”

Harry ignored him, instead pushing his notes back from the edge of the table so they wouldn’t fall off when he tried to get up. Malfoy must have seen his notes, though, because he tutted at Harry's shoulder, adding, “I can see Granger isn’t here to take notes for you, Potter.”

He was saved from having to reply when Oliver called out to him from the front of the room. When he looked over his shoulder, Malfoy had already gone.

“Harry,” Oliver called again when Harry didn’t acknowledge him straight away.

“Sorry I was late,” he finally replied when he walked over to where Oliver was standing. The other wizard just grinned.

“Well, eight am is a pretty god awful time! I mean, five am I can do – for training. My body is used to that. But eight? Well, that’s like halfway between week and weekend, isn’t it?”

Harry, who’d had six months of weekends, could understand the reasoning, at least in theory.

“Security couldn’t figure out where you’d moved to either. Weren’t too happy about not being told of the change.”

“Hubbins, I bet.” Oliver interrupted, shaking his head. “Thinks he’s High Inquisitor, that one does – with the power of the Head Auror, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, laughing.

“So, anyway, tell me,” Oliver asked, “How do think that went?”

“Err…” Harry began, not sure how well ‘I half-slept through most of it’ would go down.

“No, no, don’t answer that. I nearly fell asleep saying it. But regulations must be followed and all that rot. At least we don’t have to go over it again.”

“Malfoy seemed to get it all down.”

“Did he? Well, can’t say I’m surprised. He was always a bit of a swot, wasn’t he?”

Harry laughed. At least the whole world hadn’t gone insane – he’d half expected Oliver to say he’d become good friends with Malfoy or something.

“Well, you’d better go out and have something to eat – we’ve got a lot to explain in the second half. Not half so boring but perhaps twice as confusing. Marcus will be doing the presentation, too, and he’s likely enough to pull out anyone who’s not listening and make an example of them.” Marcus Flint had joined them at the front of the room. He put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and nodded at Harry.

“That’s your style, isn’t it, Marcus?” Oliver asked him. Harry wasn’t sure he liked the look of satisfaction Flint gave them.

Right, then, he needed coffee. Leaving the two wizards standing beside the front desk, Harry made his way out to where a small table had been set up with tea, coffee and a few sweets.

There were eight or so people waiting outside the room, standing and talking in groups of two or three. Most of them looked old enough to be Molly and Arthur Weasley’s parents. One old man had a beard so long and white that he looked like he was two seconds from keeling over. Malfoy, standing by the tea and looking as snobbish and indifferent as he always had, was the only person conceivably younger than fifty.

As Harry poured himself a coffee he couldn’t help but notice that someone was staring at him. Instead of starting another little spat, he met Malfoy’s eyes and said, quite calmly, “That was a pretty incredible present you gave Teddy yesterday; he’s already got great plans for it.”

Malfoy was obviously taken by surprise, though he covered it well. “I’m glad he is finding ways to put it to use then,” he replied, with a slight tilt of his head. It was clear he didn’t quite know where the conversation was going.

“Well he plans to get the ducks in the pond to join him in trying to get the goose to move to the neighbour’s house, because it keeps chasing him.”

The edge of Malfoy’s mouth tilted up, perhaps in a smile, though Harry couldn’t be sure.

“I see.”

Harry took a sip of his coffee. It was terrible, but really, he hadn’t expected it to be good. The Wizarding world didn’t quite _get_ coffee.

“I didn’t realise you’d be helping with this programme,” Harry said, after a few seconds, when it became obvious that somehow he was now one of those groups of two, standing and talking with Malfoy.

“I’m hardly surprised; they didn’t publish a list of trainers, did they?”

“Well, no. But I’d have thought Oliver would have said something to me if he knew you were going to be one of the trainers, too.”

“You flatter me, Potter. Wood would mention my name while discussing future work arrangements with you?”

It was strange how quickly he had forgotten he was really talking to Malfoy and, yet, how quickly he was reminded again.

“Not you, personally. But people like you, I guess.” Harry already realised this wasn’t quite coming out right. He’d never been one to censor his thoughts, though.

“People like me, Potter?” Malfoy didn’t look impressed.

 _Well,_ Harry thought, _so what. What do I care if I impress wankers like Malfoy_. Speaking of; Malfoy was still talking.

“Where did Wood find you, anyway, Potter? Last I heard you were a reclusive alcoholic, still pining for the She-weasel.”

“So you’ve heard about that, at least? I hadn’t heard a word about you before yesterday; been hiding up in that big Mansion of yours, Malfoy? I’d hardly go around calling people reclusive if I were you.”

Malfoy sneered, though whatever rebuttal he was about to make was cut short by a booming voice from behind Harry.

“Good Lord, if it isn’t Harry Potter! I thought I saw you sneak into the meeting earlier but I couldn’t quite tell.” Harry turned around to find himself face to face with Ludo Bagman.

“Hello, Mr Bagman, I didn’t realise you’d be helping with the programme.”

“Call me Ludo - You’re definitely out of school now! Why, I don’t think I’ve seen you since that terrible business with the Triwizard Tournament in Ninety-Four! You’ve certainly grown up.”

“Thank you, er, Ludo.” Harry turned to put his empty cup down and noticed that Malfoy had disappeared. Unfortunately, it was too much to hope that he’d disappeared permanently.

“But yes, Oliver kindly offered me the position – after all, I was the best Beater the Wasps ever had! I’ve certainly got a fair idea of what and what not to do in professional Quidditch, you might say.”

Harry wondered if that meant Bagman would be encouraging or discouraging the students to gamble. You could never be sure when it came to the ex-Minister for Magical Sports and Games.

“Good Lord, is that the time? We must be heading back inside or I daresay Marcus will have something to say about it. Always has such a way with words, he does.”

And so, with his hand on Harry’s shoulder, Bagman guided him back into the Office of the Pest Advisory Board, leaving Harry not even a second to compose himself before he was back in his seat next to Malfoy.

It was clear that this was going to be a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

It had, indeed, been a very long day, Harry thought, flopping down in his chair that evening. The two afternoon sessions had proved only slightly more interesting than Binns’ History classes back at Hogwarts. On top of that, he’d had to contend with Malfoy for the entire time – know-it-all, colour co-ordinated, sub heading Malfoy, who had smirked at Harry’s pathetic notes even when he wasn’t looking at them.

Harry pulled off his shoes and threw them across the room with so much force the neighbours probably thought their walls had become home to a very large rat.

Flint’s explanation of camp procedure and the training schedule they were expected to follow with the children may not have been as boring or confusing as Oliver’s morning session on Ministry procedure, but he certainly made up for it by being an absolutely hopeless public speaker – so bad that even Harry noticed how terrible he was. Flint’s deadpan introduction had continued throughout the speech, though every few minutes he would punctuate a point by yelling out the most important word with an additional thump on the desk in front of him.

The first time Flint had slammed his fist on the table, half the room had jumped like he’d hit them – Harry included. It was just lucky nobody had brought their drinks with them into the room, or the afternoon may have turned out quite differently.

At least he had more of an idea of how they had organised the camp, though he probably wouldn’t need to remember most of the information. He’d been assigned to organise the camps security and anti-Muggle warding as he had a good deal of knowledge in the fields. Of course, as life would have it, the other person with a specialised knowledge of security and anti-Muggle warding was Malfoy. The smug git had spent a good ten minutes bragging about the security measures he’d put in place around his bloody castle, or Manor or whatever it was.

 _He does is on purpose,_ Harry thought. _Just to annoy me._

He knew it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Malfoy for the situation, even if he wasn’t quite ready to admit it out loud – after all, Malfoy had been boasting about his warding technique long before Bagman had gone and insisted Harry would be a perfect choice to work with security.

He needed a drink. Actually, he needed a whole lot of drink – if he was expected to move into camp by Wednesday to start setting up security. Nothing else could begin at the camp without the proper anti-Muggle wards in place. And with no one but Malfoy – which was worse than no one – to keep him company, those drinks would have to be strong.

Luckily help was at hand in the form of a bottle of Firewhiskey he’d stashed in the hall closet. So while he packed the rest of house into, if not neat or organized at least compact (thanks to shrinking charms) boxes, he steadily drank on.

By eleven o’clock, the dining and living rooms and his bedroom had finally been cleaned and cleared and, at the foot of his bed, his old Hogwarts trunk was filled with everything he thought he would possibly need in the coming months.

He looked critically at the mountain-like pile he’d somehow managed to gather. He had no idea how it had ended up so high – in fact, he couldn’t even remember what he’d put in there. Perhaps he’d gotten the ‘take’ and ‘store’ piles mixed up. But with his head buzzing pleasantly, he could only shrug and think that he’d go through it all tomorrow.

Ambling back into the living room, he carefully sat in his couch. Picking at some threads that were poking out of the arm, Harry tried to calculate the logistics of taking his couch with him – surely the hassle of getting it to the camp would be far outweighed by the comfort he would gain. The sneer on Malfoy’s face when he discovered Harry couldn’t live without his couch, as well as the endless mocking he’d surely receive might outweigh the comfort, though.

He’d nearly come to a decision when the fire flared up green in front of him, nearly causing him to drop his drink.

“Hello? Harry, are you there?” called a voice from the fire.

“Ginny?” He answered cautiously, just in case he was hallucinating his girlfriend’s head in the fire.

“Oh, you are home. Great! How are you?”

Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to tell if it really was Ginny, he was sure hallucinations could come up with answers just as easily as he could but he figured there was no harm in chatting anyway.

“Good, real good. And you? How are you? Wow, Ginny, it really is you – I haven’t spoken to you in so long!”

Ginny laughed, flicking a few coals from the fire as she tilted her head. Harry missed that gesture.

“You know, I’m doing alright. It’s pretty hot out here, which is crazy; it’s supposed to be winter! The team is doing brilliantly, and the Australian League is thinking of starting up another club. We can really see the difference with the extra training – plus the new plays are working much smoother now.” Even though he couldn’t see her hands, he knew Ginny was gesturing animatedly. She always used her body to speak when she was passionate.

“That’s brilliant; it sounds like you’re finally getting somewhere. I’m really happy to hear it’s working.”

Harry was surprised to find that he really was happy. Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her like hell. Nor did it mean that he had gotten over the fact that she’d gone to Australia without him; not that it was her fault, but he really was glad Ginny had found something she was good at even if it meant a long distance relationship.

“Harry?” Ginny was still speaking to him, though he’d missed whatever she just said.

“Yes? Sorry, what was that?”

Ginny laughed, she’d learnt to deal with Harry’s tendency to miss half a conversation over time.

“I _said_ , I’ve heard you’ve got some exciting news of your own?”

Harry grinned, the Weasley gossip vine must be working as well as it always did, then. He stood up, hoping to shake the slightly fuzzy feeling out of his head. It wouldn’t do to have Ginny pick up on his slight inebriation – he’d have Hermione on his doorstep in a flash. Again.

“Well, you must have heard what the news is – if you’ve heard I have news!”

“I may have,” Ginny answered, with a smile, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it from you!”

“Fine,” Harry answered, sighing as if he was really put out. He paused dramatically waiting until Ginny looked like she was going to snap.

“Oliver Wood asked me to help with a Quidditch Training Camp over the holidays. It might not be exactly what I had in mind – I mean, of course it’s nothing like the Intercontinental Training Program, nowhere near as big. But I think, perhaps, it might be something I’ll enjoy. Maybe. Though who knows, I could hate it in the first week. But it’s only a six-week camp so I’m sure I’ll manage. What’s six weeks, anyway, hey?”

Harry mentally told himself to shut up and stop rambling. He was so busy trying to keep quiet that he didn’t realise Ginny had started talking again.

“–derful! You’ll be brilliant at it – I know you will. Oh Harry, you’ll fit in so much better doing this. I don’t know why you thought you should be an Auror, this is much more suited to your personality. I asked Jarvis just the other week about whether or not there was room to offer you a position again but it’s really not possible at the moment. Not until Fereick decides to retire, anyway. He looks like he might just die on his broom and keep on training, like Binns! But at least you’re doing something with Quidditch again.”

Harry felt his face going red; he hated it when people went out of their way to do things for him. It wasn’t Ginny’s fault he’d missed his chance with the Intercontinental Program. She hadn’t given him Dragon Pox. He didn’t need her to try and get him favours either.

“Yeah. Oliver’s set up a pretty good program, by the sounds of it. I have to move in to camp tomorrow to begin security preparations. So it’s been a busy week.”

Ginny grinned, “I bet Oliver has it _all_ worked out! You just be sure he lets you stop for breaks – he’s a slave driver!”

Harry laughed; he knew as well as Ginny how hard Oliver expected people to work.

“I’m not working directly with Oliver – but I expect I’ll be doing as much work. I’m stuck with bloody Draco Malfoy as my offsider.”

Ginny’s face twisted into a grimace. “Urg, better you than me – I’d be afraid of turning my back and having him hex me!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he replied, thoughtfully, “I think I’m more concerned with how I’m going the manage stopping myself from hexing _him_.”

Ginny laughed out loud, before her head suddenly disappeared from the fire – after a moment, she returned.

“Oh, Harry, I’ve got to fly – literally – morning schedule begins in five minutes!”

“Oh. Umm. Well, I guess you’d better get moving then. What time is it there, anyway?” Harry answered, waving away the concern on her face.

“Nearly eight. We get a late start two days a week as a reward for topping the listings!” Ginny grinned, “I’m sure I’ll talk to you again soon – give Ted a big hug for me!”

Harry nodded in reply, not quite trusting his voice. He hated saying goodbye to Ginny.

“Ok, bye then!” She said finally, when it didn’t look like Harry was going to say anything. Harry thought she looked a little concerned, but after waiting for Harry’s quick ‘bye’, her head and the green flames surrounding it suddenly disappeared from the fire. He sighed, wishing he could gather the courage to say ‘I miss you’ to Ginny. It just never seemed appropriate until she was already gone.

He dropped back into his couch again, picking up the unfinished glass of whiskey from behind his table lamp; where he’d placed it (in case of unannounced floo calls). He always felt the need to drink after talking with Ginny and having a job certainly didn’t change that.

At least he’d finished packing before she flooed.

*

Harry jolted awake with a start, realising in short succession that falling asleep, half-tipsy, on your couch was never a good idea – especially in a room with no curtains and the main entry window for delivery owls.

It was the incessant tapping of an owl at the window that had startled him awake; and if the vague recollection he had of a Mediwizard viciously tapping at various body parts in his dream meant anything, the owl must have been there quite some time.

He stood up, trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes as he made his way to unlatch the window. The owl was quick to drop its letter and fly out again, without even waiting for a treat.

Harry was glad – he had no idea where he’d packed the owl treats away, anyway.

Turning the letter in his hand over revealed the word, ‘Potter’ in an elegant scrawl. He was quite perplexed; after all, he couldn’t think of anyone who would address a letter to him with just his surname. A Howler, perhaps, but he had designed wards with the sole purpose of keeping Howlers out.

 _Well,_ he thought, _no point it sitting here, guessing – might as well open it and find out._

He was surprised to discover it was from Malfoy, requesting he make himself available to begin their planning at the camp reception at 11am sharp.

Harry gritted his teeth, hating the whole tone of the letter – he felt inclined not to meet the git, purely out of spite. Glancing quickly at the wall opposite, Harry couldn’t help but smile. The clock flicked from 10.50 to 10.51am as he watched it. Obviously, Malfoy would just have to wait until he got there. Who did he think he was, anyway, practically issuing orders?

Unfortunately, as he’d already finished packing and cleaning the night before (there were only two items in his trunk that were supposed to be going with him), Harry had little actual reason to put off meeting Malfoy. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t quite bring himself to ignore the meeting either.

He pulled on a red jacket; not quite sure what the weather would be like out in the country. As he slipped his trunk, suitably resized, into his trousers pocket and cast the correct charms to lock up his apartment, he consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he was fifteen minutes late and because he’d warded off his usual Apparition point he’d have to use the spot across the road, behind a dingy Irish Pub, and take up even more of Malfoy’s precious time.

He held open the main door of the apartment block for two elderly women who stopped talking to eye him suspiciously. When he was almost out of hearing range, they started their conversation again – complaints about someone taking communal areas for granted again.

 _Shite,_ he thought, as he heard the word ‘bicycle’, _I knew I’d forgotten something!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry arrives at Camp Chertsey

Harry took a deep breath as the world around him finally settled back into its proper proportions. His stomach tilted oddly; Apparition always felt like someone was wringing him out like a wet sock.

Hermione had mentioned once the possibility that the level of alcohol in a witch or wizard’s blood substantially increased the adverse effects of Apparition and Harry couldn’t help but think, with the amount of personal experience he possibly had, that she might be on to something. He wasn’t willing to offer himself up as a test subject though.

When his balance had been properly regained, he began to make his way around the side of the small group of country shops in front of him; categorising various natural elements that would either help or hinder the security warding in the process. The camp was a good ten minutes walk from the Apparition point near The Greenway. He couldn’t help but hope the students would either be met or get better directions than the ones Oliver had given him; there weren’t many landmarks to use as guides – he could only hope he’d hit the camp in the next few minutes.

Almost at the same time as he thought just that; Harry stumbled, quite literally, into it. He looked in the grass behind him to find a large wooden plaque, welcoming him to Camp Chertsey. With a flick of his wand, the sign was standing again and looked to have a new coat of paint. Perhaps the next person to pass through wouldn’t have quite so hard a time at it, he thought, brushing dirt off his trousers.

With a final nod of satisfaction, he turned again to face the small building across from him. It looked to be no bigger than Hagrid’s Hut back at Hogwarts but, if there was one thing Harry had learned it the Wizarding World, it was that size was very relative when it came to construction. He pushed open the heavy wooden door when he reached the building, revealing a spacious entrance similar in décor to the corridors at the Ministry. Harry wondered if the noise his footsteps were making on the stonework was some kind of variation on a welcome bell. The place had about as much life in it as a plastic tree – and a lot less colour. Forget years, it didn’t look like it had been used in a good few decades.

Across from the main door was a high black counter but it wasn’t until Harry was standing directly in front of it that he noticed a small witch sitting behind, reading from a large, ancient-looking tome.

After waiting patiently for a few minutes for the old woman to acknowledge him, Harry cleared his throat, bringing his wand hand up to rest on the counter to try to gain her attention.

The witch peered up at him suspiciously, a crooked finger resting against the page she was reading.

“You are trespassing on Ministry property,” She stated unhelpfully, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

“Umm, yes, I realise that Madam,” Harry replied, slightly taken back by her hostility.

She continued to watch him through her owl-like glasses, eyes narrowing when Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously.

“Umm, excuse me but is this where the Quidditch Training Camp is being held? Perhaps you’ve heard something about it?”

Her lips pressed into a hard line. “I am aware of the program, however it is not due to begin for another week.”

“Yes, but I have a meeting today,“

“You are here to meet with Mr Malfoy?”

“That’s right – is he here?”

“Certainly. Mr Malfoy scheduled a meeting for 11am this morning.”

Harry smiled in relief; he was at the right place then. “That’s great – that’s with me. Could you, perhaps, tell me where he is?”

The witch pursed her lips.

“Are you aware of the time Mr –“

“Potter.”

“Mr Potter? It is almost eleven thirty.”

“Is it? Well, I shouldn’t hold Malfoy up any longer then,” he grinned, wondering if this witch was related to Malfoy – she certainly looked at him the same way.

“He is in the Dining Hall; you will find it through the door to the left. I do not believe you will receive a warm welcome, Mr Malfoy does not appreciate tardiness.”

Harry was about to tell her how little he cared about what Malfoy did or did not appreciate but she had already turned back to her book, quite possibly forgetting his existence.

Mercifully the Dining Hall was much easier to find than the camp itself. He saw the other wizard almost immediately, sitting at a table full of books and parchment, his flash of white hair quite difficult to miss.

“You’re late, Potter,” Malfoy stated, without even looking up.

“Well observed,“ Harry replied with a snort, wondering how he had possibly gotten himself into this situation. He stood across the table, not quite sure if he should sit down or not.

After a few moments, Malfoy stopped reading and looked up at him.

“What is it about you and invitations, Potter? Should I order you to sit like a dog?”

Harry didn’t feel that warranted a reply, so instead, he pulled the chair out in front of him and sat down. There would surely be enough time to argue later.

When he looked up, Malfoy was smirking.

“So, an old dog _can_ be taught new tricks.”

Harry’s mouth tensed into a grim line, though he didn’t respond. What was the point? They both had a good few hours of work to get through – why start the hostility in the first five seconds?

If Harry’s silence surprised Malfoy, he didn’t show it; returning instead to the book he was reading. When it seemed the other wizard had forgotten his existence, Harry finally decided enough was enough.

“So, have you put together some kind of plan? Where are we starting?” He asked, with cautious civility.

Malfoy looked up at Harry through his fringe.

“Starting, Potter? I started nearly an hour ago; are you planning on making a contribution, then? I thought perhaps you were only here as mascot – is Saint Potter actually going to help?”

The smug git had the audacity to keep a straight face.

“Well you didn’t give me much notice, Malfoy,” he snarled, clenching his fists on the table. Malfoy glanced quickly at them before answering.

“Oh? Really, I don’t think I should take the blame for your cowardice – Mythros had quite a time finding your residence in the first place. Fans being particularly rough on you this time of year, are they?”

Harry had to concentrate very hard on how disappointed Andromeda would be (and how unhappy Teddy would also be) if he decked Malfoy.

“It must be terribly difficult having so many Witches falling over their feet for you. Is that why you were late – seeing off one of your conquests?”

Harry thought it was a bit rich of Malfoy – who had had girls falling over him left right and centre during school (even if two of them had turned out to be Crabbe and Goyle) – to tease him about his relationships with the opposite sex.

Though that was certainly not a conversation he was going to get into right now. Or, ever.

“Look, I don’t know about you but I don’t want to sit here for the next week – or _six weeks_ , talking nonsense. Let’s just get this done, and then we can go back to pretending we don’t know each other. “

“Certainly,” Malfoy sneered, “I am but your loyal servant.”

Harry unclenched his fists, for fear he might cut into his skin. He pushed his fringe back off his face (though when Malfoy’s eyes flicked up to his scar, he quickly flattened it again) and tried to breathe calmly.

“I’m sorry, ok,” he interrupted, when it looked like Malfoy might start again. “I didn’t mean to be late but I can’t change that now. I’ll try to be on time in future.”

Malfoy looked him in the eye, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether Harry was being serious or just setting up the groundwork for another fight.

“Alright, Potter,” he finally replied, “apology accepted.”

And to his credit, when it became apparent that Harry hadn’t remembered to bring a quill, parchment or even the training booklet, Malfoy didn’t even bat an eyelid.

*

At four o’clock Harry was just about ready to pull out his hair – he couldn’t remember a time when he’d needed a drink more urgently. Of course such lines of thought only added to the frustration; drinking on camp had been strongly discouraged by both Oliver and Flint.

As if he’d materialised by thought alone, Oliver’s laugh echoed through the Dining Hall just as Harry was about to tell Malfoy he could go shove it.

“Gentlemen,” he said, slapping Harry on his shoulder was he joined them, “I can hear by the raised voices that you’re communicating; I hope that means you’re making good progress on security?”

Malfoy nodded in greeting – Harry shook his head, laughing, if only Oliver _knew_. Better to laugh than to cry, though, wasn’t it?

 _Whoever came up with that,_ Harry thought _certainly had Malfoy in mind_.

The two wizards were both staring at him oddly when he looked up – for just a moment Harry wondered if he had said that out loud. It was something that happened occasionally, a side effect of six months of self-imposed isolation, probably.

Or madness, supplied a voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Malfoy.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asked Oliver instead; no good could possibly come by arguing with his subconscious – especially when it was channelling Malfoy.

“I asked if you’d given any serious thought to the pitch – we’ll need all the correct specification wards up and running by the first week. Anti-tamper, Apparation, jinx and accidental outburst wards plus cushioning, wind dampening and a couple of wards for discouraging wildlife won’t go amiss either. Malfoy said that was probably more your specialty.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Harry answered, shocked that Malfoy would suggest anything was his specialty. Perhaps he was being sarcastic and Oliver missed it. Harry willfully ignored the voice in his head again, laughing at the concept of Oliver, who lived with Flint of all people, missing sarcasm.

“Well, just let me know if you need anything. Doris can be a little bit difficult to get information out of,” Oliver gestured to the door opposite, that lead back out to the Entrance Hall. “She’s looked after this building since she left Hogwarts back before the war with Grindelwald. Be careful not to more any of the furniture around – she has ways of finding out quicker than it takes to finish moving the object!”

“Well, I imagine she’s going to love having twenty screaming children underfoot.”

“Put it this way; I don’t think we’ll have any problems with them trying to sneak out of their rooms at night after the first day.” Oliver gave Harry a wink before looking over at Malfoy.

“It is fortunate we will have such a competent caretaker, Wood,” Malfoy answered, once again confusing Harry by coming up with what seemed to be straightforward approval.

Malfoy had approved of a number of Harry’s suggestions for warding in a similar manner throughout the afternoon, though Harry had spent a good five minutes after each approval failing to discover the hidden sarcasm Malfoy obviously intended.

He was almost ready to admit the possibility that Malfoy may actually, genuinely, approve of some (few) ideas and plans that were not his own.

“I’ll leave you two to it, shall I? I’ve got to head back to Hogwarts again – just to make sure the students have got all their forms sorted. It’s a bit harder to monitor the International applications but at least the ones coming from Hogwarts seem to be in order. Just send me an owl – or try to get Doris to – if you need me for anything.” Oliver leaned over to shake Malfoy’s hand.

“Forgotten something, Wood?” the blond wizard asked, before letting go.

“How boring life would be if I remembered everything!” Oliver replied, laughing, before motioning for Malfoy to continue. Harry wasn’t sure what Malfoy thought Oliver had forgotten; if he had to guess, it probably involved the camp food. They’d had lunch brought out to the table and though Harry hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with it, Malfoy seemed to think he’d been poisoned. He’d complained about taking the issue further if he suffered any ill effects for a good hour or so after they’d eaten.

“Following your request at the meeting last week, I have brought everything necessary for my stay here; however Doris was not able to give me any information on where my quarters will be for the duration of the program. I would like to have everything organised by this evening so we can focus solely on warding tomorrow. I imagine Potter here has the same concern; I understand he spent the morning packing.”

Harry decided he should probably stop guessing what people’s intentions were if he was going to guess so far off. He was glad Malfoy had raised the question as well; it was something he’d completely forgotten once they’d begun to properly discuss warding.

“…though from what I hear he is just as happy sleeping in the bushes,” Malfoy finished, forcing Harry to reconsider his gratitude.

“Well,” Oliver said, shaking his head, “I’m glad you’ve reminded me! I thought I’d told this to Doris, but you know how it is.” Oliver didn’t say ‘with me’ but Harry smiled, adding it anyway. Oliver would forget his head if it wasn’t such a necessary attachment for Quidditch matches.

“You haven’t been shown around the camp either, I imagine. No? All right – I’ve got a good fifteen minutes; do you mind if we do it now? No? Good!”

Harry stood and began to gather his work from the table as Oliver had already made his way to a door on the other side of the Dining Hall. From the shuffling across the table, Malfoy was doing the same.

“Just leave that all there for now; the camp isn’t very large and I’ll drop you back here on my way out,” Oliver called out, beckoning for them to follow. There was almost an awkward moment when both Harry and Malfoy ended up at the door at the same time but Harry pretended to arrange something in his pocket thereby avoiding either giving Malfoy the courtesy of exiting first, or having to receive it.

The tour didn’t take too much time; as the West and East wings of the building were identical, Oliver only showed them one side of it. The building formed the shape of a “V” with the Entrance Hall and, behind that, the Dining Hall in the middle, and the two wings coming off from behind.

The Dining Hall (North) door led into a corridor with four more doors. Two directly across from them that Oliver said they’d see on their way back, then one door to the left and one to the right – going off to the two wings.

Oliver took them to the West Wing, through the left door.

“As you can see, it’s not much to look at. We’ve had to stick with what the Ministry will give us, unfortunately – but the main reason we chose this location is because the space between the two Wings is the perfect size for a Quidditch Pitch!”

The West Wing was a long corridor with ten or so doors leading off on the right hand at even intervals.

“It was originally built for Tebo Hunting groups. Certain wizarding families thought it would be wise to import Tebo from Africa, once Erkling Hunts were banned. Unfortunately after two Hunts, the Tebo must have realised what was going on and the next time a Hunt was arranged, they’d all disappeared. To this day, we can’t be sure if they gradually mixed with local species, died out, or still exist in the surrounding forest completely invisible to the rest of the world!”

“Terbows?” Harry interrupted, once again reminded of how little he knew _even now_ of the Wizarding World.

“Yes, a Tebo –Muggles describe them as warthogs but, of course, unlike warthogs, Tebo are capable of invisibility.“

“So, Wizards built this to hunt invisible warthogs?” Harry repeated.

“Quite right. Though they only managed two Hunts.” Oliver added.

“There is a portrait in the Manor of my Great-Uncle Alexius. He has a Tebo skin draped across his shoulder. I used to talk with him about his Crups – I believe he was an avid hunter,” Malfoy explained.

“This was the only area where Tebo were introduced into England for hunting so he probably came on one of those two hunts.”

Malfoy didn’t offer any more information, so the tour continued. Oliver explained that there were ten small rooms along both Wings, with a large communal bathroom halfway along each. They looked in one of the rooms to see that it had everything necessary for a short stay. What was of special interest was that each room opened out to the courtyard between the two Wings, which was being converted into the Quidditch Pitch. Oliver assured them both that wards would be in place stopping the children from using the courtyard doors after curfew.

Harry was relieved, he couldn’t imagine the trouble they’d have if they had to deal with keeping an eye on both the corridors and the courtyard every night as well as training all day. He decided he’d come out after Oliver finished the tour to determine the best charms and warding to use on the Quidditch Pitch.

They finally ended back in the corridor joining the Dining Hall with the West and East Wings.

“Now, we’re back at the beginning which is the end of the tour and I bet you’re about to remind me that I’ve forgotten the reason for giving you this tour in the first place. But I haven’t – because the two doors across from you lead to your quarters. They’re both the same of course,” Oliver said, opening the door closest to the West Wing, “whichever you decide to take, you’ll end up with looking after the children on that side.”

They gradually moved into the room, and Harry wondered how long it would be before Malfoy started complaining. The room was nice – cosy even, Harry thought, but probably not up to whatever standards the other Wizard seemed to continuously measure the world against. Amazingly, Malfoy didn’t make any immediate objections.

“So, they each have a bedroom and sitting room, cupboards are over there and that’s the desk in the corner near the window – which overlooks the pitch as well, of course. Now, if you come through here…” Oliver continued, leading them through another door.

“This is the bathroom, obviously nothing fancy – it is, after all, a very old building. But I’m told the water pressure is good and there are charms on the tub similar to those at Hogwarts, in the Prefects bathroom. Obviously not to the same scale, but I think it will do nicely.” Oliver turned around, with a grim look plastered to his face, though it threatened to break into a smile at any moment.

“Of course, as these were originally the main chambers for the Lord and Lady of the building, there is one slight difference from the rest of the guest rooms along both the Wings. Through here…” Oliver turned to walk through a door on the other side of the tub and Harry and Malfoy dutifully followed.

It was clear what ‘through here’ was as soon as they were through and into an identical, though mirrored, room to the one they’d just left on the other side of he bathroom.

“As you can see, is the second set of quarters.” Oliver pointed out the bedroom, drawers, sitting room and desk again before turning to face the two men. “So, any questions?”

Malfoy was the first to break the silence.

“Let me get this clear. I am expected to share quarters with Potter?” Malfoy sounded as impressed as Harry felt.

“Well, no, not exactly. Not _quarters_ – it’s just a shared bathroom.” Oliver Wood was obviously a sneaky bastard or he’d been taking tips from Flint. He’d clearly known this would be the living arrangement when he offered Harry the position but had wisely kept his mouth shut. After all, there’s no way Harry would have agreed to this if he’d known.

“I take it there are no alternative options?” Malfoy continued, though he must have known the answer was ‘no’ as clearly as Harry did. Oliver shook his head.

“These are the only two that will allow you to easily monitor the children. Apart from Doris, our groundsman Metherson and the house elves, you will be the only two staff staying on camp through the night. Though, as I explained earlier, arrangements can be made if you need to spend a few days off campus.” Oliver looked at Harry, “How about you, Harry?”

There was only one thing that really stuck in his head to ask apart from what the hell Oliver was thinking when he roped Harry into this, “You said these were originally the quarters for the Lord and the Lady of the building, right?”

Oliver nodded, looking a little confused at where this was going.

“Well, which one is which?”

“Eh? What’s that?” Oliver was still oblivious though Malfoy looked like he might know what Harry was leading up to.

“Which was the Lord’s and which was the Lady’s?”

“Oh, well, hang on. I’ve no idea. Why in Merlin’s name would you need to know a thing like that?” he replied, shrugging, before making his way to the door, “I’d have to ask Doris.”

“This is the Lady’s, Potter. It has extra detail in the stonework around the windows and though only cosmetic in a Wizarding Manor, the bathroom door on the Lady’s side does not have a lock,” Malfoy answered, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, in _that_ case, Malfoy. I believe this room is yours.” Harry smirked, before nodding farewell to Oliver and heading back through the bathroom and into the quarters he now claimed as his own.

As he closed the door to the bathroom and warded it off, his only comfort when he thought of the events of the day was the fact that Malfoy had completely got the wrong end of the stick when it came to Harry’s love life. Because the thought of bringing Ginny or _anyone_ here with Malfoy right through the door – maybe even listening on the other side – was enough to put him off even the _thought_ of it.


End file.
